


curiosity killed the cat (and satisfaction brought it back)

by aegious



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: A3! Rarepair Week 2020, Love Letters, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:47:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25243375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aegious/pseuds/aegious
Summary: Itaru has played enough otome games to know what’s happening here. In fact, he remembers this exact route in the one with the hot, datable older brother. He can remember almost word for word what was written in that letter in-game, and as he watches Chikage, body turned just slightly away, hiding the letter from peeping eyes and annoying juniors, Itaru imagines the letter says almost exactly that.“Is that a love letter, senpai?” Itaru can’t keep the smile out of his voice.
Relationships: Arisugawa Homare/Utsuki Chikage
Comments: 18
Kudos: 71
Collections: A3! Rare Pairs Week 2020





	curiosity killed the cat (and satisfaction brought it back)

**Author's Note:**

> happy rarepair week! this is all i managed to write (oops) but i'm very happy with how it turned out :> i had the honor and privilege of collaborating on this fic with [gen](https://candycatboys.tumblr.com/) so i'm especially excited to share it!!

Chikage picks at the red wax seal on the envelope, flakes of it chipping off and burying themselves under his dirty nails until it almost looks like he’s bleeding. His face is blank, or perhaps impassive, as he does this, a methodical rhythm that isn’t quite the most efficient way to open the letter but gets the job done nonetheless.

The game on Itaru’s phone is more of a tap-tap sort of game, so he doesn’t have to pay attention to it as he grinds out experience for the upcoming event. His thumb moves on autopilot while he watches Chikage, and it’s specifically because his game is a tap-tap sort of game that he’s able to witness the subtle changes in Chikage’s bland expression as he reads over the letter.

Itaru has played enough otome games to know what’s happening here. In fact, he remembers this exact route in the one with the hot, datable older brother. He can remember almost word for word what was written in that letter in-game, and as he watches Chikage, body turned just slightly away, hiding the letter from peeping eyes and annoying juniors, Itaru imagines the letter says almost exactly that.

“Is that a love letter, senpai?” Itaru can’t keep the smile out of his voice. It’s probably his first mistake, but he can’t help it.

If Itaru had blinked, he would have missed the way Chikage jumps suddenly, his shoulders jerking in the most minute and unnoticeable way, as if he’s trained his body not to react to sudden stimuli. He clears his throat and exaggerates his frown, like he’s pretending Itaru hadn’t already caught him. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Itaru rolls his eyes—Chikage is a liar, so he very well could have lied about this, too. But he didn’t, instead choosing to dance around the question. “I guess you’re right.”

The open-ended answer hangs in the air between them, lays crumpled between Chikage’s fingers.

* * *

Itaru sees the second letter slide under their door before Chikage does. Chikage is on his bed, arm behind his head and a book in his hand as he reads, even though Itaru already knows that the book—upside down, he’s noticed—is concealing the not-any-of-his-business letter.

“Senpai,” he calls because he can’t be bothered to get up from his game. He may be K.O.’d right now, but that doesn’t mean he won’t respawn in the next few seconds. He doesn’t have the time to dabble in Chikage’s weird love life, or perhaps lack thereof.

“Not now, Chigasaki,” comes his distance voice from above. “I’m busy reading.”

And rereading, and rereading, Itaru fills in for him. His character respawns, and he’s already clicking out of the base, willing the mass of colorful pixels to move faster. “It’s another one of those letters, though.”

“Ano—” There’s shuffling above Itaru’s head, and then Chikage lands on the floor with barely a sound. Who needs a ladder, anyway?

The first letter remains on his bed—that much he can tell from his peripherals as he swerves around minions on his way down the lane to reunite with his team. It’s the first time Chikage has left the letter unsupervised since he found it yesterday, and Itaru still hasn’t seen what it says.

_None of his business,_ sure. That doesn’t stop him from being curious.

He dodges a skill shot at the same time Chikage rips open the envelope, a bright red lump on the back that Itaru assumes is the same wax seal that held the first letter closed. So then, it’s the same sender.

Itaru wishes the other team would surrender already, since they’re obviously not going to win. The enemy team only has three players alive, and the carry is being focused hard. They don’t stand a chance.

But they’re stubborn, and Itaru imagines a trio of Chikages behind the screen all laughing at him as they make his life miserable. Stubborn, annoying douchebags who are trying their damnedest to keep Itaru’s curiosity unsatisfied.

This time, he misses the face that Chikage makes when he reads the letter.

* * *

It becomes something regular for them. At about half past three, a little white envelope will make its way into their room via the slit under the door. Every time, it will have the same red wax seal on it. Every time, Chikage will open the door, only to find that whoever is sending the letters has disappeared.

After a week, Itaru has managed to learn a few things.

One, the letters are from a secret admirer, no matter how many times Chikage swears up and down that he has no such thing.

Two, the admirer’s handwriting is big and loopy and slanted slightly to the left. It’s charming in an ugly sort of way, from what Itaru can tell, but Chikage always steals the letters away from Itaru’s line of sight before he can actually analyze the handwriting or read what it says.

Three, Chikage already knows who is sending them. Figures, really. Of _course_ Chikage would know who the secret admirer is, because there’s nothing more romantic than a mystery, and Chikage is decidedly not.

Four, Chikage absolutely, under any circumstance, refuses to tell Itaru who that person is.

He figures it’s someone within the dorm, which is kind of exciting if you ask him. It’s like a real-life dating sim where Chikage is the MC. Itaru can’t decide if it’s better or worse that it’s not a harem game because really, both have their merits. But the idea of more than one of the actors in Mankai Company falling in love with someone like _Chikage_ leaves a weird taste in his mouth, so maybe it’s better this way.

Itaru weighs the pros and cons of expending his own LP on asking Chikage who the secret admirer is once again.

He doesn’t even manage to open his mouth before Chikage is down his throat, though. “I’m not telling you.”

Itaru’s nose wrinkles and his lips poke out in a little pout at this. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m not one of your little games,” Chikage unfortunately reminds him. “I’m not supposed to be fun.”

“How did you even figure it out?” he asks instead, feeling his LP drain slightly. It’s not as important of a question, so it doesn’t take as much.

Chikage’s eyes flicker up from the fourth letter—his favorite, it seems, from the amount of times he’s reread it now—and then back down, barely giving Itaru the time of day. “Why do you need to know?”

Itaru cocks his head to the side and gives him a little grin. “It’s like a mystery game. I’m collecting clues.”

Chikage doesn’t even look up this time. “I just told you, I am not a game.”

* * *

One day when Itaru drags his feet into their room, there’s a stationary set on Chikage’s desk. A blank piece of paper is set apart from the rest, and next to it a plain black pen that was probably stolen from work.

* * *

Itaru wakes up at 5:30, just in time to make sure his resources aren’t wasted. The bright light of his screen is enough to clear the sleep from his eyes, and he rolls onto his side as he boots up the first game out of—actually, he’s forgotten how many games he has on his phone now. He should count them at some point.

He taps through the loading screens, creating a rhythm with his thumb, when he hears shuffling below him. He leans over the edge of his bed and sees Chikage at his desk, surprisingly, hands folded together under his chin, elbows pressing into the wood like sharp daggers. From this angle, Itaru can’t see his face, but he can see that plain black pen poking out from between his fingers.

There’s a blur of black on the paper, but without his contacts he can’t possibly tell what it says.

Chikage seems to stiffen, though the reaction is subdued, and then he turns his face up to meet Itaru’s nosy gaze. Itaru thinks he sees a frown on his face in the low lamplight.

“Whatcha doin’?” Itaru asks casually, putting his phone in front of him like a barrier of protection. And because he still has to use up his resources.

“Some paperwork,” Chikage lies, because he always lies. It’s not even a good lie because even though the ink is blurred he can tell that the paper is not from work.

Even so, Itaru just hums. “Wanna do mine, too?”

“Not in the slightest.”

To be honest, Itaru doesn’t blame him.

* * *

Itaru puts the matter of the love letters out of his mind when they’re not alone in their room. It’s easier to focus on more important things, like how he’s going to get out of work for a bathroom break today, and how many times that excuse is going to work.

He’s considering faking a stomach virus when Omi hands him a mug of coffee and Homare dances into the common room, his phone precariously grasped in his hand.

“Good morning, all!” he chirps brightly, a grin spread across his face. He spins around, knocking into Hisoka, asleep on the floor, and eliciting a pissed-off grumble from below. “Oop—sorry, Hisoka-kun, but I am overjoyed!”

“I know,” Hisoka says, already turning over onto his other side to ignore him. “That’s why I came out here.”

“What’s going on?” Chikage asks, leaning in over his own coffee. His arm is slung over the back of the couch, uncomfortably close to Itaru’s back.

“Well, if you _must_ know,” Homare starts with a twinkle in his eye and an exaggerated sweep of his arm, “I’ve been invited to a conference to speak on my poetry!”

“Homare-san, that’s great!” Omi says, passing off a mug to him. “Congratulations!”

“It’s an annual poetry convention,” Homare elaborates, never one to just let things go. “I’ve gone several times before, but it is always a delight to see my dear colleagues and fans.”

“Congrats, Homare-san,” Itaru says before taking a sip of his coffee, vanilla cream wafting up into his face. He winces—too hot.

“Yes, congratulations, Homare-san,” Chikage echoes.

* * *

Itaru finds ripped up pieces of paper in the trash can under Chikage’s desk. He wouldn’t consider it snooping, per se—he’s just cleaning up. Right.

Most of the scraps are completely blank, a blinding white against the dark metal of the trash can. Sometimes he’ll see a few strokes of a kanji, a meaningless character here and there. Nothing he can piece together to form anything coherent. And certainly nothing like a name.

* * *

Homare leaves for Osaka in the morning, and Itaru finds Chikage at his desk in the evening.

The sheet of paper in front of him is blank again. His trash can is empty. The cap of his pen is chewed up, now, even though he keeps it out of his mouth in Itaru’s company.

“More paperwork?” Itaru asks, throwing his briefcase into a pile of his clean laundry which he hasn’t put away and doesn’t intend to put away any time soon. It lands softly, soundlessly, a perfect landing. Three hundred points.

Chikage just hums, distant, quiet. He taps the pen in a slow rhythm on the table, the same tempo at which Itaru taps his phone games.

“You left work pretty early today,” he continues. “Trying to push more work on me?”

“You’re capable enough to handle it,” Chikage says, _finally_ —it’s weird when he’s quiet like this.

Itaru sighs nonetheless. “That’s no fair.”

Chikage puts the pen to the paper, lifts it, puts it back down. He takes the cap off and rolls it between his fingers, the ridges where teeth have left marks glinting in the lamplight. He puts the cap back on, sets the pen down.

He stands up. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Paperwork’s that hard, huh,” Itaru muses, glancing pointedly at the blank paper. “Did you get a letter today?”

Chikage hesitates for a second too long. “You’re pretty nosy, hm?”

“In RPGs you can break into people’s houses and steal their things,” Itaru responds. “This is nothing.”

* * *

Chikage doesn’t come back that night. The letters are missing, too.

* * *

Chikage greets Itaru the next morning like nothing happened. He’s already in the kitchen watching Tsuzuru make another pot of coffee, wearing the same clothes he was in yesterday. He wonders if Tsuzuru has noticed that, or if it’s just him.

“Good morning, senpai,” Itaru responds, nose buried in his phone. It’s a visual novel with a mystery plot—for some reason, he’s been into that genre recently. “How was your walk?”

Tsuzuru pauses what he’s doing to eavesdrop, but he doesn’t join in. Older sibling syndrome, probably. Too nosy for their own good.

Itaru ignores that he’s a younger sibling doing the same thing. Semantics.

“It was refreshing.” Chikage takes a sip of his coffee. “Did you stay up playing games all night again?”

Itaru waves his phone in the air. “You already know the answer to that one. Are you heading off to work soon?”

Chikage puts his mug to his lips again, glances downward. The steam from the coffee fogs his glasses, but he doesn’t seem to even notice. “I’m not actually feeling all that well, so I’ve called in sick. Since you’re such an excellent junior, I’m sure you’re more than willing to help pick up my slack, aren’t you?”

Itaru grimaces, the dawning realization that he won’t be able to take as many bathroom breaks today washing over him like stormy waters pulling him under. “Always happy to help, senpai.”

Chikage smiles into his mug and downs the last of it. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go rest now.”

He hands the mug off to Itaru and leaves him and Tsuzuru alone in the kitchen. They exchange glances, but Tsuzuru merely shrugs and returns to his own coffee.

Before he leaves for work, Itaru returns to his room for his briefcase, only to find Chikage sitting at his desk again, teeth clenched tightly around his poor pen.

* * *

“Do you miss him or something?” Itaru finally asks after three days of Chikage’s bullshit.

“What do you mean?” Chikage’s tone is guarded, defensive. He’s not going to open up easily. But he doesn’t have to. Itaru has him all figured out by now.

“Homare-san,” Itaru clarifies. “He’s the one sending you the letters, isn’t he?”

Chikage shifts on his bed, the springs groaning under the weight. Itaru spares a glance upward because loading screens really do take forever, but as expected he still can’t see through solid objects, so he has no idea what Chikage’s expression is right now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, senpai,” Itaru says, clicking out an obnoxious rhythm on his mouse. “At least admit it when I’ve gotten it right. I found all the clues and put everything together. Don’t I deserve a reward for that?”

“You’re pretty cheeky,” Chikage says. “What does it even matter to you?”

“Well,” Itaru starts, falling quiet when his game finally loads and he has something new to keep his attention. “I guess it doesn’t. I’m just curious.”

Chikage lets out a single, monotone chuckle. “Curiosity killed the cat.”

“And satisfaction brought it back.” Itaru pauses. “Or something.”

There’s a silence in the room as Itaru navigates the narrow passages, his W key smooth and worn under his finger. He’s convinced that Chikage isn’t going to say anything else, that maybe he’ll just pretend that this conversation never happened because he’s a stubborn, emotionally constipated idiot with trust issues.

And he’s right—Chikage seems intent on ignoring reality, so it’ll be up to Itaru to drag him back down to earth yet again. This is why he hates romance.

“Do you like him, too?” he asks, his voice much softer than he intended. He clears his throat of that softness, too disgusted with himself to continue on like that.

“You’re really not gonna let this go.”

Itaru shrugs even though he knows Chikage can’t see him. “Not really, no.”

“It’s—”

“None of my business,” Itaru finishes for him. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But you sulking all the time around me is weird and I don’t like it. What do you think got me curious in the first place?”

“I see.” Chikage shifts on his bed again. “Sorry for worrying you, then.”

This time, Itaru is the one who doesn’t respond.

* * *

The letters have mysteriously returned to their room. Itaru knows it can’t _possibly_ have anything to do with Chikage’s secret being revealed.

The fourth and final day of Homare’s convention is a Sunday, meaning Itaru can game all he wants and no one except the director can stop him.

It also means that Chikage has nowhere to be, either, and they end up spending the day in their room together, neither of them speaking to each other because that would mean they have to be emotionally mature adults.

The victory banner shines across the screen and fills Itaru with smug satisfaction. Of course he won; he’s Taruchi. There’s no way he’d lose to a bunch of scrubs like this. But this victory is particularly satisfying because the final shove was a tough one, and his noob teammates kept taking unnecessary damage.

He’s a hard carry, though. It’s only natural.

He’s tried hard to ignore Chikage this entire time, but now he notices a white piece of paper in his hands as he sits at his desk. He must have taken out the letters while Itaru was playing.

He’s gotten pretty bold, now that the jig is up.

“I won,” Itaru announces as if Chikage cares about something so obvious as breathing.

Chikage doesn’t look up. “Your winning streak is in the teens now, isn’t it?”

“It’s twenty-one, actually.” Because if he’s going to boast, he’s going to do it right. He leans over and peers at the letter, but even with his contacts he can barely make out what it says from this angle. “Which one is that?”

“Do I have to repeat myself every time?” is Chikage’s answer, and honestly, that’s fair. It won’t stop him from asking, though.

“It’s the fourth one, isn’t it?” Itaru guesses. There’s more wrinkles on this page; it’s been handled more than the others. “What’s so good about it?”

“You know, Chigasaki,” Chikage starts, pressing more creases into the paper as his hands clench around it, “some people enjoy having a private life of their own.”

“Really?” Itaru asks, sarcasm in every bitten syllable. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Chikage sighs, letting his hands fall to the desk and taking the letter with them. “If you understand that, then you should know why I don’t want to share the letters with you.”

Itaru’s mouth twists up in a little smile. “What does Homare-san like about you, again?”

“You’re trying to get information out of me.” Chikage carefully folds up the letter, as if it’s not already ruined from his handling of it. “It’s not going to work.”

“It was worth a shot.”

* * *

Chikage is still at his desk when bedtime (about three in the morning) rolls around. Instead of a letter in front of him, though, it’s the final blank sheet of paper from his stationary set. Itaru is powering down his desktop when he hears Chikage sigh, long and slow and soft, really soft.

“You’re trying really hard,” he observes.

Chikage doesn’t respond. Instead he stiffens, hardens, throws his walls back up around him because god forbid he experience a human range of emotion.

Itaru tries again. “I’m pretty sure he’d be happy to just get something in return. You know, instead of just letting this thing be all one-sided.”

Chikage uncaps the pen, caps it. Uncaps it, caps it. “He’s coming back tomorrow.”

“Do you want to give him that as a surprise?”

Chikage’s silence is enough of an answer, says more than it probably should. Itaru can feel the affection level unlock.

“You can at least start by writing his name.” He points at the paper. “That, at least, is easy.”

Chikage’s leg bounces under the desk. “That part doesn’t matter.”

“Then write it down.”

“But—” Chikage shakes his head, then puts his pen to the paper. “No, yes, right.”

Thirteen strokes spell out Homare’s name. Itaru didn’t think it were possible, but he’s found out that there’s actually someone in this world with worse handwriting than himself. It nearly sends him into shock, this discovery, but he quickly returns to the matter at hand, namely Chikage’s inability to do anything that involves emotion of any kind.

“Are you gonna write anything else?” Itaru coaxes, his quiet voice coming out disgustingly gentle. “It doesn’t have to be sappy.”

“There’s nothing that can…” Itaru knows he’s about to unlock part of Chikage’s tragic backstory here, so he leans in and grabs onto every word like he’s a peppy otome MC. “Nothing I can write would compare to those letters.”

Bingo.

“Why are you comparing them, senpai?” He shrugs. “You’re not even remotely similar people.”

Chikage taps the pen on the desk. “I could put him in danger…”

Itaru is being nearly overwhelmed with these tiny nuggets of feeling tonight. It’s almost like drowning in a puddle. “Aren’t you some secret agent serial killer or something?”

Chikage whips around. “What?”

“You can protect him,” Itaru says, ignoring the way Chikage’s face twists up all funny and exaggerated. “So I dunno why you’re worried about that. He’s probably in more danger on his own.”

Chikage goes quiet, and Itaru hopes that it’s because there’s nothing he can say to argue against that flawless logic and not because he’s closing himself off again.

“Just write what you know, senpai.” Itaru stands up from his chair and stretches, groaning gratuitously into the night. “If it’s Homare-san, I’m sure he just wants someone to play along with him.”

* * *

Homare throws open the front door of the dorms and leaves no survivors when he bustles in, throwing his arms around everyone and swinging them around.

“I hope you didn’t miss me too much!” he exclaims, throwing Taichi around the room with all the strength in his beanpole body. From what few glimpses Itaru can actually make out of Taichi, he looks a little green, and he’s glad he’s not as small and easily lifted as high school kids. “I was dreadfully depressed over the weekend wondering how you might be faring. So! I wrote a poem for everyone here! Please, Itaru-kun, gather everyone for a personal recital of my latest masterpiece!”

“Uh,” Itaru starts, trying his best to find a way out of this. “How about later?”

Homare stops short, but Taichi keeps going, and going, and going, straight into the wall. His moans are unfortunately ignored when Homare pouts a little, his eyebrows drawn in with confusion. “Are you busy now? I assumed you would all be missing my evening recitals!”

“Yeah, yeah, they’re great family bonding,” Itaru says with a wave of his hand. “We’re about to have dinner, though. It’s your favorite, curry.”

Homare huffs, but he doesn’t look particularly miffed. “That is one thing I enjoyed about Osaka: the meal variety.”

“Welcome back, Homare-san,” Itaru sing-songs with a cheeky grin.

Chikage has been uncharacteristically silent this whole time, and knowing the reason why only has Itaru rolling his eyes. How pathetic. He knows the letter is folded up in quarters in Chikage’s back pocket, not even in an envelope because Chikage doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body.

He’d definitely fail any otome game, Itaru decides with grim realization.

“Ah, dear Chikage-kun, I missed you as well!” Homare says, stepping over mounds (and mounds) of luggage, arms spread wide for a hug that Chikage will inevitably dodge.

His hypothesis is proven right.

Homare stumbles into the couch right as Chikage ducks out from under the embrace, kicking off the couch and away from Homare in one single, fluid motion. “Welcome home… Homare-san.”

Itaru actually bothers to pay attention to the exchange instead of his phone, so he gets to see the surreal, impossible experience of Chikage blushing. It’s faint, so faint that no one else could have noticed, but there’s this barely-noticeable tint of pink along the tips of Chikage’s ears that makes Itaru feel like he just defeated a final boss.

Of course Homare misses it because they’re both stupid.

* * *

Itaru almost turns the corner to head back to his room, but he stops short and presses himself into the wall when he hears two people talking in the distance.

Chikage and Homare, to be specific.

Finally.

With the utmost care, he peers around the corner, just to see what they could possibly be up to. Not that he doesn’t have an idea, but he wants the confirmation.

“I read your letter,” Homare says. “It was under my door when I returned to my room. It is yours, isn’t it?”

Chikage takes too long to respond, as usual. “Yeah.”

Not as usual, Homare goes quiet. When he speaks again, Itaru has to strain his ears to hear him. “And this is how you truly feel?”

“I wouldn’t have written it if it wasn’t.” Chikage folds his arms over his chest.

Homare is holding the letter gingerly in his hand, as if it might crumble under his touch, or disappear, or any other improbable thing. “To think this day might come…”

Chikage nods, lips pursed. “So why are you here, Homare-san? Outside my room…?”

Homare tilts his head to the side and places his hands on Chikage’s shoulders. “What do you mean? This is what we’ve been waiting for! Our _raison d’être!”_

“Is that right,” Chikage says.

Homare lets his hands fall and he steps away with a huff. “I see we have much more work to do before our hearts can truly synchronize.”

“Wh—”

“No matter!” Homare throws up a finger in Chikage’s face, and Itaru suppresses a giggle as he watches the scene unfold. “Love can walk through fire and move mountains. You will come around eventually, Chikage-kun, my muse, my dearest.”

There it is again, that elusive, barely-there blush. This time it creeps its way onto his cheeks, and Itaru drinks it up like Mountain Dew during a particularly arduous raid. “Homare-san, I don’t really know what you’re talking about, but can we just start with something simple?”

“Oh?” Homare leans in. “Like what?”

“A…” Itaru crosses his fingers. “A kiss, maybe.”

There it is. This is better than any visual novel, for sure.

“A kiss…” Homare gasps suddenly. “A kiss!”

“Sh!” Chikage presses his hand to Homare’s mouth. “Not so loud.”

Homare pries the hand away like it’s nothing, which is saying something because Itaru knows exactly how strong Chikage can be. Which either means Homare is freakishly strong, or Chikage was being way gentler than he looked. “Why, love is something to shout from the rooftops, sing among the mountains…! Don’t you agree?”

Chikage’s face scrunches up.

Homare’s chuckle is a song that has Chikage relaxing. “Then, a kiss.”

“Yeah…” Chikage looks down, to the side, anywhere except at Homare, like he’s mapping an escape route.

Homare digs into his pants pocket and produces a blank sheet of paper, folded into squares. Before Chikage can even comment on it, Homare presses a long kiss into it. “For you, my love.”

Homare hands the paper over. Chikage is quiet for a moment, staring blankly at the thing in his hands. “Thank… you?”

“Of course!” Homare laughs. “I gift you a kiss that you may keep and treasure.”

Chikage’s expression is strained, so obvious that Itaru can see it even from down the hall. And yet Homare shows no indication of noticing, instead dancing away, leaving Chikage alone in the hall with nothing but a blank piece of paper.

* * *

“I saw you,” Chikage says that night, not looking up from his book.

Itaru groans. “How do you even do that?”

“You aren’t as sneaky as your game characters,” Chikage explains as he turns the page. “You’re nosy right up until the end.”

Itaru shrugs and kills another monster. “I never said I wasn’t.”

The only sounds in the room are the rustle of paper and the agonized wails of dying monsters. As expected, Chikage says nothing more, too emotionally repressed to continue a conversation that breaches anything even remotely resembling vulnerability.

It doesn’t matter, though. In the end, it all worked out, and Itaru solved his mystery. And he doesn’t want to know anything else, anyway.

After all, he hates romance.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you again to gen for agreeing to collab with me ;w;
> 
> i'm also on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/aegious)
> 
> thank you for reading!!!


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